


We Sleep With Doubt

by LucySpencer



Series: Those Graces [41]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Love You, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Not Happy, Not What It Looks Like, POV Second Person, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This keeps happening, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, You Have Been Warned, but first it will piss you off, seriously what am I doing, the truth will set you free, you guys this is getting out of control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:45:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucySpencer/pseuds/LucySpencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brunch at the Stabler house, part I (aka before everything goes to shit).</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Sleep With Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> **_These words are my diary screaming out loud-_ please read!**
> 
> Hello! I’ll say it up front, I’m a miserable failure. I had planned on posting this by midnight tonight to coincide with this fic’s one year anniversary, but my wireless had other plans. That’s what I get for waiting until 11:30. Anyway…
> 
> I’m incredibly emotional thinking that I posted the first chapter one year ago today (yesterday). As you may or may not know, this whole thing started when I was rewatching Surrender Benson, musing to myself about what might have happened post-ep, when two images popped into my head: the first scene and the ‘red toenail’ scene. When I couldn’t get them *out* of my head a few days later, I wrote them down, fleshed them out a little, and that was the end of it- or so I thought. Although I had really just written it for me, I posted it on a whim, not really expecting anyone to read it or even care. Annnnd then it blew up and it became 41 chapters and counting and it’s literally all because of YOU. I’m not a person who does long projects like this, because I can’t stick to anything, but it’s because of you lovely people that I’m still going. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that this would be a ‘thing’. I feel like you love this all as much as I do (maybe more some days!), and that’s honestly the most gratifying feeling in the world. Next to torturing you with feels, of course.
> 
> Again, as some of you know- the original ‘inspiration’ for this came from an incredibly dark day in my own life almost ten years ago. I don’t know what it’s like to suffer from PTSD and I certainly don’t know what it’s like to be kidnapped, thank god, but I *have* battled severe anxiety and depression pretty much my whole life and thus some of this is very personal. I hope I still manage to do the subject matter justice despite that. You honestly can’t imagine how much this has allowed me (someone who struggles almost every day to even get out of bed or leave the house) to find my voice- and make some amazing friends in the process. 
> 
> So this is my love letter to you all. I’ll end my oversharing by thanking everyone who comments once again and if you haven’t before, please feel encouraged to leave feedback, drop me a PM, or hit me up on twitter at lucythespencer. It makes my day :)
> 
> **A/N:** I cried more writing the above than I did writing this chapter, if that’s any indication of things to come. This one is pretty light but don’t worry, everything goes to hell next time. :D Quotes from _more than this_ by 10,000 Maniacs. Title from _because the night_ by patti smith- a song which I’ve been obsessed with the 10,000 Manics cover of since junior high, and now I’m also obsessed with that video clip of mariska singing along to it. My life, man.

_{it was fun for a while_  
there was no way of knowing  
like a dream in the night  
who can say where we’re going?} 

"Nick's right."

It was a shame, at least for Nick, that you uttered these monumental words in Elliot's parked car where they would only ever be heard by you and him. You can only hope that, wherever Nick is (which better be at his desk), he's receiving some sort of subliminal signal to alert him that you're publicly admitting his superiority. 

"Junior's right?" Elliot asks, hand resting on your thigh.

"I can't _not_ show up, or it'll look suspicious. Like I'm avoiding you."

"But that doesn't mean you can't wake up Saturday morning with a convenient case of the flu, or get called into work, or...see? You have plenty of options."

"Elliot, _you_ were the one who said that for this to work, we needed to be model husbands-slash-girlfriends. And _you_ are also the one who should've paid more attention to your wife in the first place so you would know ahead of time before she invites me over."

"How was I supposed to do that while I was with you the whole weekend?" he asks, like a month hasn't elapsed since you first caught wind of her intentions to ask you over via that inane Christmas card (that Elliot had no idea she sent until you showed it to him). "And you're one to talk- you have no fuckin idea what, or who, Brian's doing ninety percent of the time."

"Well, I know where he'll be Saturday morning- at your house. And we're not going to invent excuses, and we're going to be on our best behavior, and I'll come up with a reason to leave as soon as I possibly can. We can do this, it's pretty simple."

"I still don't understand why Junior's coming."

"Because he answered the phone and sweet talked Kathy into inviting him so he wouldn't be sad and lonely at home by himself." Elliot's massaging the knotted muscles at the base of your neck with his fingertips, and you lean into the touch. "He just wants to be a brat. He's probably hoping we'll all sit down to eat and start fighting novela-style. Those characters never actually finish a meal before everyone storms off."

"Mmhmm. And Nick's at work right now?"

"He better be, or he and I are gonna have a problem."

"And Brian's working?" 

You give him a very serious look, because this is a very serious situation and in no way is your resolve wavering, not even now when he's rubbing your shoulders until you purr like a kitten. "I told you, no. We're not going back to my place so stop asking."

"But-"

"If we did, we both know what would end up happening and I have no self-control left today so...no," you repeat. Elliot had been there waiting when you got done at the therapist's office, as usual, and you hugged for longer than was probably socially appropriate in a busy lobby. Then you went and had a few drinks in lieu of what you usually did (i.e. going back to your apartment and...whatever), and you sat so your shoulders were touching and your hands bumped together as often as possible. Finally you walked him back to the garage that he left his car at, where you most certainly weren't making out with your back pressed up against the driver's side door (even if there's now security camera footage out there somewhere that tells a different tale). 

But all that aside, you still weren't going back to your place. Because you're not lying, you're buzzed enough that your restraint is rapidly slipping away, and it's extra risky now that you have TWO people with keys who could potentially walk in on you (and you're not sure who it'd be worse being caught by, Nick or Brian). Most of all, though- the guilt just won't let you go through with it. Hell, even Carminha on Avenida Brasil won't fuck her boyfriend in her husband's house, and she's an absolute snake. And you need to stop comparing your life to telenovelas. Damn you, Nick.

(You know that someday, you'll give in and it'll happen, you'll end up fucking Elliot again and it'll probably be amazing, but today is not that day.)

But Saturday was that day.

_{I could feel at the time_  
there was no way of knowing  
fallen leaves in the night  
who can say where they’re blowing?} 

"The future's open wide!"

"Nick."

"Mmm mmm mm, mmm mmm m-mm..."

"I give up," you complain, Brian giving you a sympathetic look from where he sits beside you in the back seat of Nick's car. You were halfway to Elliot's house, having suffered through listening to Nick sing along to every song on some all-80's station. 

I Melt With You ends but he keeps humming to himself over a commercial, grinning excitedly like a kid on his way to see Santa. His enthusiasm was enough for all of you, but it wasn't contagious, with you and Brian looking like kids on their way to the dentist. _Sleepy_ kids on their way to the dentist. After all your insistence to Elliot that you weren't going to make excuses, you were going to show up at his house on time and with a smile on your face, you came perilously close that morning to doing the unthinkable and texting him to say you'd come down with a sudden case of Ebola. It'd been just before dawn when you woke up to the sound of Brian creeping into bed- but no, not because he had just gotten home from another late night with the KGB.

"What time is it?" you mumbled, moving over from where you were sprawled out on the middle of the mattress. "How long do those fucking things last?"

"The fight's been over for a long time. I, uh, I guess we were just talking and then I fell asleep on the couch." Brian and Nick had found common ground to bond over, and that was a love of those stupid UFC matches. You'd been able to be 'one of the boys' your whole life, but there were some things you'd decided you need a Y chromosome to enjoy, and this was definitely one of them. You could appreciate the technique involved in boxing or wrestling, even though you weren't interested in watching, but this- frankly, you couldn't find the appeal of dropping $100 on pay per view to watch people kick the shit out of each other for a few hours. Nick apparently did, though, so you were more than happy to leave them to it while you took a long bath and went to bed early. 

"Ohh. So it's okay if you two fall asleep next to each other, but when he and I do it's the end of the world," you say, referring to a few nights prior when Brian had gotten home and found you and Nick both passed out on the bed- in a completely platonic way- after he'd come to your room to keep you company after you woke up from another nightmare. "I see how it goes."

"He had his feet on my pillow!"

"Sounds like you should sue." You move in closer to him until your bodies are flush against one another's, and his mouth is warm and you can still taste the salt on his tongue from the pretzels he was eating earlier. He sits up and you help him tug his shirt off over his head, your palm briefly making contact with the two smooth scars on his chest before he pulls you on top of him, and it's not until he starts pushing down your pajama pants that you make up your mind to stop him. "Hey. Bri, wait."

He instantly lets go of you, brows creased worriedly. "Shit. You okay?"

"I'm fine, baby, I just...I'll be right back."

"You're sure?" he asks, and you reach over to touch his arm in reassurance.

"Positive. Just gimme a minute," you promise as you get up and head into the bathroom, hoping he didn't hear the tiny tremor in your voice. You don't want to scare him, not when it hadn't even been two days since you'd re-reconsummated the relationship. At first it had felt like starting over again, back to the beginning, but your worries about it taking ages to actually 'go all the way' like it had before turned out to be completely for naught- even if you weren't exactly screwing each other senseless yet.

But this right here, this was anxiety provoking in and of itself. Even though it felt like the right moment, even though it was solely your idea, you still frown warily at yourself in the mirror after you've undressed. You pick your shirt up, put it down again, reach for it a second time, and finally grab Brian's bathrobe off the hook on the back of the door and wrap it around yourself like a shield. Then before you can change your mind, you open the door and go over to stand beside the bed, knees visibly unsteady as you stare downward. 

"I...uh," Brian says, trying to figure out what was going on. 

"I'm. Yeah," is your articulate reply, fidgeting with your sleeves, painfully aware of the way the bathroom light illuminates your side of the bed. "I told you I would, so."

He blinks when he catches on to what you're attempting to say, reaching out to take your hand in his. "You don't have to, babe. I promise."

"I know but...I want to. I just..."

"Okay," he murmurs, nuzzling at the side of your neck. "Just relax. It's no hurry."

You tried to, you really did, but a few minutes later you decide it's very literally now or never and put his hands firmly on top of the knot that's holding the robe closed. "It's alright, Bri, c'mon."

He hesitates and you wish he wouldn't, because the effort you're putting into keeping this neutral-but-unafraid expression on your face is getting painful. Finally he gives in while keeping his eyes trained on your hairline the entire time, which is actually more unsettling than anything- until he kisses his way down your neck, past your collarbone to the valley in between your breasts- and then stops. 

"Hey, babe...it's alright, I'm sorry." He notices right away when you start holding your breath, biting down on your lip, and rushes to reassure you. "I'm not...I mean. You're okay. Actually..." He chuckles softly to himself. "You're fucking gorgeous. It's just been a long time and I...wow."

_you're fucking gorgeous._ Not 'you still are'. No qualifier needed. And maybe that’s why this time you didn’t turn away when he slid inside you, why you kept your eyes wide open when you straddled his thighs and sank down onto him, one hand flat on his chest to brace yourself and the other hand working between your legs until you came. Maybe that’s why you reached for the back of his head once he rolled you over again, pulling him into a kiss that lasted long after you both had collapsed into an exhausted heap with your bodies still joined.

You reach across the back seat for his hand and smile over at him as your fingers link together. Unwanted trips to the Stabler house aside, you feel like things are getting better between the two of you. Most of the time. But every now and then, when he doesn't realize that you're watching, you'll see him staring at some invisible point in the distance as he rubs his jaw in thought. There's this look on his face- not sadness, not apathy, just resignation- and you wonder if he _knows_. If he doesn't, you're pretty sure he must wonder. But you don't ask, and neither does he.

It's probably better that way. 

_{maybe I’m learning why  
the sea on the tide has no way of turning}_

It felt like the three of you stood on the Stablers' front steps for about an hour between the time when you rang the doorbell and when a mildly flustered-looking Kathy opened the door. "Come in, come in, I'm so sorry! I lost track of time after the girls went to go pick Eli up from his friend's place- it's so rare that El and I actually have the house to ourselves without any kids around, you know, and now I see I'm running late."

"Lovely," you say under your breath, polite smile pasted firmly across your face as Nick jabs you in the ribs. "Kathy...this is my new partner Nick, the one you spoke to on the phone."

Kathy holds her hand out to him, but then your attention is diverted by Elliot walking into the room. Brian automatically wraps an arm around your waist like he's afraid Elliot will physically drag you away or something, but he's more interested in looking you up and down, appraising your outfit critically. He's already the second one today to do so- Nick had been beside himself when he saw you were wearing a skirt.

"Oh shit, I didn't know it was gonna be this formal," he had said, snickering like a little kid who just heard a dirty joke on the school bus. "Should I have rented a tux?"

"For your information- it was either a skirt or jeans with paint stains on them, because those are the only clean things I have since _someone_ monopolizes my washing machine." You'd learned many new things about Nick from living with him, one of those being that he does at least one load of laundry a day. What he actually has to wash, you haven't figured that part out yet.

"You look like a _girl_ ," was his reply, and you don't know whether that was supposed to be a positive thing or not, but you do know that Elliot's looking at your sweater and knee length-skirt ensemble like you're a stripper who came to his house in your work 'uniform'.

"Elliot," you say stiffly, formally, and that finally gets him to stop glaring at your scandalously exposed collarbone. You're out of ideas for what to say next and Brian doesn't seem to have any either, so it's a relief when a new person enters the room. "Maureen! It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, I'm pretty hard to miss," she jokes, one hand resting on the baby bump that's definitely expanded since the last time you saw her in their family Christmas photos. You follow her over to the couch, making small talk about how she's feeling and her plans for decorating the nursery, and it's nothing to do with her but this whole fucking situation is just nauseating. There's nothing you want more right now than to _not_ be sitting here surrounded by reminders of things you don't have, babies and families and _Elliot_ , who apparently wishes you had been getting dressed in a nun's habit while he and Kathy were busy doing whatever the hell they do when all 86 of their children are out of the house (probably make more of them, depending on what's happening with her and her cervix). 

"Before I forget, I have a present for you- well, for Benjamin." You reach over and take the gift bag from Brian, the only person in the room who seems even more uncomfortable with all this pregnancy talk than you do, and hand it over to Maureen. 

Everyone makes the requisite ooohing and ahhing noises when she unwraps the little blue monkey-printed sleeper and the matching blanket, and she hugs you and insists you didn't have to bring her anything, to which you fight the urge to reply that yeah, you kinda did. You did because you couldn't stand having it taunting you from inside your bedroom closet for one more second, but you just smile and laugh and almost cry from sheer joy when the rest of the kids walk through the door. 

Eli immediately spots the wrapping paper debris and scowls. " _More_ baby presents?"

"Eli!" Kathy scolds, frowning apologetically. "He's a little jealous."

"Am not! I'm a LOT jealous!" he protests, arms crossed and looking for all the world like his father does whenever you mention Brian. 

Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for his parents, you had come prepared. In a rare display of solidarity, you, Nick, and Brian had all agreed on getting Eli a large plastic Jedi-style light saber that looked potentially hazardous and made loud obnoxious sounds every time it moved. The thrilled looks on Elliot and Kathy's faces when they saw this new treasure made it all worth it, even if you're pretty sure that now you'll _really_ never be having sex with Elliot ever again. 

Meanwhile, Lizzie and Kathleen seem to have found a present of their own. You look over in Nick's direction to find the girls gazing at him dreamily, like they both have cartoon hearts in their eyes, while Nick is trying and failing to keep his cool in the midst of all this attention. His face is bright red and he's giving them this bashful little boyish smile, and even Kathy seems to have fallen for his charms. 

Elliot, however, has not. "Junior, you still married?" he asks pointedly.

Before he can answer, Kathleen snaps her fingers in excited recognition. "That's where I've seen you before! You were at the Pale Canadians show, the one at the florist shop- my friend plays the typewriter in the band. Well, he did, but he quit last week because they're getting way too mainstream. So that blonde you were with, that's your wife? I actually talked to her for a few minutes...what's her name? Aman-"

"Wasn't that a great place for a show?" Nick cuts her off to ask, laughing nervously, and- Amanda? As in, Amanda Rollins? "I, uh, I accidentally left my phone in my car. I better go get it."

The girls all but simultaneously squeal that they'll come with him, tripping over each other to get out the door. "He's married!" Elliot calls out to them as a reminder.

Kathy checks her watch and remarks that she needs to start getting the food ready, going into the kitchen and leaving you, Elliot, Brian, and Maureen to avoid making eye contact with one another. Well, at least you and the gentlemen are- Maureen's giving you all the polite, confused smile of someone who senses a disturbance in the force but otherwise knows nothing. 

"So I'm designing these wall hangings for Benjamin's room," she says out of nowhere, going on to explain each of them in detail, and your momentary gratitude to her for breaking the silence is instantly shattered once you realize the conversation is turning baby-related, _again_. You really, really shouldn't have come here. You should've faked a cold and stayed home in bed all day the way you wanted to, because you were perfectly happy a few hours ago when it was just you and Brian, and that's the way it should be. How the hell were you supposed to 'focus on the life you have' when you're sitting here watching the way Elliot's face lights up whenever Maureen mentions his soon to be grandson, wondering if he'd have reacted the same way if you told him you were pregnant? You weren't, of course, and even when you thought you might be, you still weren't willing to even entertain the idea that it might have been his. But you know him, and you know he never would've taken your word for it. He would've automatically assumed it was his, insisted on a paternity test- and then what? No matter what the results were, the cat's kinda out of the bag as soon as anyone finds out you had it done. 

And now there's a literal cat racing past you, and you have to blink a couple of times to make sure you're not hallucinating, but then you hear Elliot swear and you know you're not. "Goddamnit. Eli!"

"Language," Brian reminds him, and you fake a cough to hide your smile as Eli comes running in.

"I didn't do it, Dad, he _wanted_ to come inside!"

"Well, he didn't open the door on his own." Eli wrinkles up his forehead like a perp wracking his brain for some last ditch excuse while his alibi crumbles. "Go get him and put him back outside before your mom sees. And next time I find him in here, I'm keeping *him* and giving you to the neighbors."

Eli hurries after Mr. Truman and you take the opportunity to excuse yourself, mumbling something about needing to get your glasses out of your purse. You hide away in the guest room, staring out the window as the girls keep batting their eyelashes at Nick (who doesn't seem to mind being the center of attention), and it momentarily distracts you from wanting to race out the door the way the cat did. This was obviously never meant to be your life, not if the only way you'd ever have it is by destroying other people's lives in the process. Even if it's the only thing you've ever wanted, being part of a family- and if you're completely honest with yourself, somewhere along the line that wish changed from being part of _a_ family to being part of _his_ family. But that's not going to happen. You know he loves you, you know he wishes things were different, and that's what you have to live with. 

"Hey," you hear someone say quietly, and you turn around to see Brian watching you from the doorway. "You alright?"

"What? Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. My eyes were just starting to hurt and so I thought I should get my glasses, and then..." You wave your hand toward the window, as if that explains everything right there. 

He nods like he knows that's bullshit, because it is, and he comes over to stand behind you and rest his hands on the bare skin of your shoulders. "Is this about-"

The baby. Your whole body goes tense, your eyes focused straight ahead without blinking, as if playing dead might get you out of this conversation. He's never mentioned it since that night, and you've been more than okay with that arrangement. You've thought about it, of course, but oddly it's started to bring you some sort of small comfort. _it's not that I don't want to have a kid with you_ , he had said. Not a ringing endorsement, but it still leaves open the possibility that maybe someday things will change, that _he_ will change his mind about you. If only you knew what it would take to prove yourself to him, or even how to ask the question without sounding needy and desperate for approval-

"Liv?"

"Huh?" you ask, startled to hear your name. "Sorry, sorry, I guess I zoned out."

"It's okay. I just asked if this was about, you know. This morning..."

"What? No...God, no." You turn around so you can see his face, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "Like I promised you...I wanted to, and yes I was nervous but...I don't regret it now."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure," you say, lowering your voice teasingly, and he laughs and kisses the corner of your mouth. It's a sweet little gesture and you're genuinely smiling for the first time since you pulled up in the driveway...

That is, until you look over his shoulder and see Elliot, standing there gripping the door handle so hard that you're afraid he's about to break it off.

Well. Shit. 

_{you know there’s nothing more than this}_


End file.
